


No One Flirts Like James Bond

by Celyan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Dench!M lives, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celyan/pseuds/Celyan
Summary: It is nothing new to them - or anyone around them, for that matter - to have M call them in to talk about what she deems ’improper conduct’ on the comms.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 10
Kudos: 354
Collections: Mi6 Cafe Prompt Fills





	No One Flirts Like James Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt from the anonymous prompt list, for MI6 Cafe’s December challenge:
> 
> _Dench!M lives and calls them in to discuss the transcript of a very unprofessional conversation during a mission_
> 
> Thank you Souffle and Christine for the beta reading, encouragement, and coming up with the title.
> 
> (It’s safe to say that I never would have written this fic without this challenge. It’s anyone’s guess whether it’s a good or a bad thing. 👀)

It is nothing new to them - or anyone around them, for that matter - to have M call them in to talk about what she deems ’improper conduct’ on the comms. 

What amounts to improper varies from day to day, but more often than not, it’s about Bond propositioning Q in colourful detail, and Q (more or less) politely reminding him that he ought to focus on the mission, not pursuing his Quartermaster. Or, when it’s late and neither of them has slept for a long while, it’s about random, non-mission related topics like books or Bond telling him stories from his time in the Navy. 

On one memorable occasion, it was a discussion about their favourite Disney movies, during which Q admitted to loving Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. Delighted, Bond had immediately taken to calling him a princess or my lady for the rest of the mission. He still calls him that every once in a while, much to the amusement of his minions and Q’s own embarrassment, and Q is completely unable to get him to stop.

(Secretly, however, he doesn’t mind it quite as much as he claims.) 

Getting summoned to see Headmistress McGonagall, Bond had called it once, in full view of the whole Q Branch. Q had snickered, Bond had looked unbearably smug, and the name had stuck. 

So now, whenever M wants to see them, everyone knows to tell them that they’re expected at the Headmistress’s office. Q would much rather they didn’t, but unfortunately for him no one asked for his input. 

No one ever does when it comes to these things. 

And no, Q is not bitter. He’s not. He gets it, Bond’s the double oh with the reputation and the licence to kill, neither of which he shows any shame in demonstrating when necessary. Or, as it happens from time to time, when not exactly necessary. 

So Q sighs but keeps his silence, and goes to see M when requested, and listens to Bond alternate between humorous quips and clearly false excuses, and nods solemnly when M tells them that she expects better from them - “Especially you, Quartermaster!” - in the future. Then he leaves her office with Bond trailing after him like an overgrown duckling, tolerates the arm Bond eventually wraps around his shoulders, and gives Bond something to explode or a prototype to test when it becomes clear that the agent won’t stop bloody following him around otherwise. 

Q gets data from Bond to analyse either way, so it’s not exactly a hardship to give in to the subtle manipulation he knows the man capable of using; and as it also gives him back his privacy, he feels it’s an adequate deal. 

It goes on like this until that one day when it doesn’t. 

*

It starts as a normal post-mission bright and early morning at Six. Q arrives relatively late - for him, that is - after half past eight, goes to get himself a cup of tea, and gets intercepted on his way to his office by none other than Bond. 

“Good morning, Q,” Bond greets him, looking far more chipper than Q feels that he ought to, after what had been a gruelling ten-day mission in Georgia followed by a long international flight. 

“Good morning, 007,” he says. ”I didn’t expect to see you quite this soon.” 

“What can I say, I missed you,” Bond smiles and lets his gaze move up and down Q’s body in clear appreciation. 

“Well, I did not miss you,” Q lies as he rolls his eyes at the blatant way Bond eyes him. Sadly, that is nothing new in Bond’s ongoing quest to drive his Quartermaster spare by flirting with him, either, so Q has mostly gotten used to it. 

“That hurts,” Bond says, looking at Q with those big blue eyes of his. “I was really looking forward to seeing you again.”

Q hides his sigh behind his mug of tea and takes a fortifying sip. “I assume you have your kit with you?” he says. 

Bond nods. “I do.” 

Q is about to tell him to follow him into his office when he sees R approaching them. He doesn’t exactly need her telling them that the Headmistress is expecting them, as lately it had happened like clockwork after practically every single mission he’d been Bond’s handler, so he simply nods at her. 

“007, leave your kit to R,” he tells Bond instead, and waits for the man to do so before heading towards the lifts and expecting Bond to follow him. Bond does, and he keeps staring at Q the whole journey to M’s office. Q tries his best to appear unfazed, but he cannot deny feeling relieved once they reach their destination and are asked to go in. 

Q takes his place on one of the chairs in front of M’s desk and hears Bond do the same next to him. He doesn’t look at him, however, instead keeps his eyes trained on M, whose expression is perfectly unreadable. 

Q admits to himself - _only_ to himself - that he has a bad feeling about this. 

“Q. 007,” M says flatly. 

“Yes, Ma’am?” Q asks.

“You’re aware of why I asked you here.” It’s not a question but a statement, and neither Q nor Bond even thinks about reacting to it in any way.

“I have read the mission transcript, and while I had been expecting something, it sure as hell wasn’t this.”

Q blinks and, despite his better judgment, glances at Bond questioningly. There’s a hint of a smile playing about the man’s lips, and Q frowns lightly at that. Bond, however, is not looking at him but at M. 

“I can see that Q is still confused. Shall I refresh your memory?” M continues and pulls out a sheet of paper, setting it in front of them. Q blinks again and looks down at the page.

> Q: Do you have the data?  
>  007: Yes, Q, I have it. A bit busy right now, though.  
>  (sound of gunfire, followed by rapid typing and a bit of unintelligible muttering)  
>  Q: 007, there’s a hidden door on your left. I’m opening it in thirty seconds, and you’ll have no more than a minute to get to the other end of the corridor.  
>  007: Acknowledged. Q?  
>  Q: 007?  
>  007: Marry me?  
>  (silence)  
>  007: Traditionally, when one is asked a question, one tends to reply to it.  
>  Q: Bond! Stop bloody joking around and focus!  
>  007: Still waiting, here.  
>  Q: Traditionally, when one is asked such a question, one has previously engaged in something called dating with the person who did the asking.  
>  007: I have asked you out. Several times. You keep telling me no. I thought I’d go all out.  
>  Q: 007, we’re not having this conversation right now. The door opens in ten seconds.  
>  007: If not now, when?  
>  Q: Five seconds!  
>  007: At least promise me you’ll consider it? I won’t move a muscle unless you say yes.  
>  Q: Bond!  
>  007: Q.  
>  Q: … I promise. Will you now bloody _move_?  
>  007: With pleasure.

Q finishes reading the underlined and highlighted lines of the transcript and feels himself blushing to the very tips of his ears. He’d forgotten about this particular bit of conversation, but now he remembers it. He remembers having made a threat of his own to Bond, afterwards, when the man had returned to his hotel room. He also remembers Bond laughing at him, and telling him that he’d come for his answer as soon as the mission was over and he was back on British soil.

Q absolutely refuses to turn his head to see the expression on Bond’s face. 

He doesn’t want to look at M, either, but he is no coward. So he looks up at her and keeps his expression carefully blank. (He has a feeling that M still sees right through him, though.) 

“What do you have to say for yourself?” M asks, and her gaze is directed at Bond alone. Q feels inexplicably better when he realises this. 

Then he gets an idea. 

“Yes! A thousand times yes!” 

Bond stares. He opens his mouth and then closes it again. Q feels proud at having rendered him speechless. 

”What, cat got your tongue, Bond? I thought you wanted me to say yes.” 

M looks at him and then at Bond, and starts laughing. There are honest-to-god tears in her eyes, and Q sees Bond colour ever so slightly, especially around the ears.

He likes Bond’s ears, always has. They look even more fetching like this. 

Q raises his eyebrows at Bond, as if to say, _“Well? I’m waiting.”_

“I’m, ah, happy to hear that, Q,” Bond finally manages to say. For some reason, that makes M laugh even harder, and Q cannot stop a grin from forming. 

“I’m glad,” he says lightly. 

“Well then,” says Bond, slow and steady, “I suppose the only question that remains is whether you’re okay with having the wedding in a week or two, or if you need a bit more time to plan it. And if you prefer a diamond ring or a plain one.” 

He also settles a hand on top of Q’s thigh, which causes Q to startle. M has, by now, gotten her laughter under control, and she shakes her head lightly when she sees it. Q swears he sees amusement in her eyes, though. 

“I suppose that’s settled, then,” she says, fully professional once more. “I’d tell you not to do it again, but we all know how well that would go. Dismissed.” But before either of them has time to react, she adds, “I expect an invitation to the wedding.” 

Then she looks down at the papers before her, and that is a cue for Q and Bond to stand up. 

“Come then, princess, I’ll walk you to your castle,” Bond says, and Q flushes in embarrassment (for having M read about Bond calling him that is one thing; having her hear him do it is another matter altogether). He wants nothing more than to get away from M’s stare, so he keeps his mouth firmly shut and follows Bond out of her office. 

Outside, once the door has closed after them, Bond wraps his arm not around his shoulders but his waist instead, pulling him close. Q lets him. He thinks he’ll let Bond take him out to dinner, as well.


End file.
